


Lodged

by througheden



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/througheden/pseuds/througheden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spencer loves the rain-- and the memories that come with it. </p>
<p>Based after 5x22. Mentions of 5x01, 3x16, and descriptions of both Spencer's experiences with Hankel and Foyet's attack on Hotch. </p>
<p>It's basically just 2,000 words of angsty schmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lodged

  
_“I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It's so heroic.” - George Carlin_

* * *

 

Spencer loved the rain. Actually, to be more accurate, Spencer loved thunderstorms. The booming claps of the thunder, the brilliant flashes of light, the cleansing downpours. Most nights, when he wasn’t off working a case, Spencer would sit at his window seat and watch the water cleanse the city. Nights like these, however, he preferred to watch nature rage from his bed, wrapped in his partner’s arms. 

Aaron was nestled behind him, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s waist and their legs entangled in one another’s. He could feel Aaron’s slow, even breathing on the back of his neck.

Lying there, safely cocooned in one another, Spencer couldn’t help but remember the first time they’d watched the rain together.

* * *

 

It was about two years ago now. Spencer and the team were working a particularly trying case out in Idaho that posed certain difficulties for the youngest member of the team. The unsub was using the internet to track his victims and then, to the team's horror, began posting his murders online. The videos rang too familiar for Spencer. It wasn’t the first time he’d watched someone die through a small computer screen and the helplessness and rage threatened to consume him.

Luckily for Lucy Masters, Spencer managed to channel his undetected fury into finding the young woman. Combined with Garcia’s tech prowess and the rest of the BAU’s brilliance, she was found just before Robert Johnson could complete his fifth murder. He’d be convicted, that much was certain, and no one on the team was grievously injured. As far as serial murder cases go, this one was a success.

The team retreated to their hotel for the evening with a plan to leave first thing in the morning. Weather permitting, of course—there was a nasty thunderstorm rolling through the Midwest that no pilot would brave. As soon as Spencer managed his way into his private room, he tossed his holster and vest onto the desk and collapsed into the desk chair.

Spencer was relieved to have found Robert and elated that they’d stopped his spree of narcissistic murders. An innocent young woman was safe and his previous victims were avenged. But the case left a terrible taste in Spencer’s mouth—it reminded him of choices he couldn’t make. Of screens filled with a screaming victim, of a dark graveyard and the taste of his own blood. It reminded him of needles and Dilaudid, of pain and fear— it reminded him of Tobias Hankel.

The memories made him feel… dirty. Thinking of Hankel, he remembered vividly the injections, the foreign substances coursing through his veins. He remembered the beatings, the taunting, the light he saw when he closed his eyes. He remembered the smell of the graveyard, the mud caked under his fingernails. He remembered that damn screen and everything he saw through it.

A lot of times, people saw his eidetic memory as a gift. But sometimes, Spencer would do anything to forget.

He was rubbing at his arms, trying to wipe away the tingling sensations and the dirt his memories convinced him was embedded within his skin. A clap of thunder brought his attention to the window. It was raining—an absolute torrential downpour.

Before he could think it through, he leaped from his chair and made for the main doors.

Spencer was standing in the middle of thunder and lightning before he even had a chance to think.

The elements raged against him, soaking him through to the core. Trees bent from the force of the wind and despite the hotel being located on a hill, the street was flooding. He looked up in time to see a lightning bolt race across the sky, illuminating the nearby wilderness. The rain pelted against him; it stung his face but erased the traces of dirt his memories left caked under his fingernails.

It was refreshing and cleansing… and terrifyingly beautiful.

The storm raged on and the young doctor simply stood in the midst of it. He lifted his face to it and outstretched his arms as he stood unwavering and allowed nature to wash away his memories.

* * *

 

Aaron had just gotten off the phone with his son, who demanded a bedtime story before Aunt Jess tucked him in. Despite his exhaustion, he obliged. Instead of going straight to bed after he hung up, however, he was drawn to the storm outside. With his job, it was rare that he was able to witness a kind of destruction like that of nature without feeling the need to stop it.

He stood at his window, watching the lightning illuminate the sky. It was incredible, he thought, that these storms raged long before shelter existed. Humans braved these tempests for as long as they were human; Aaron couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps these gales had something to do with the innate survival instinct of man.

But he was drawn away from that thought when another crack of lightning raced through the sky and illuminated the ground. More importantly, it illuminated a figure whom Aaron knew to be Spencer, standing unprotected in one of the worst storms Idaho had seen in a decade.

He knew that the case had taken a toll on the profiler. The moment they saw the killer posting his victims’ last moments online, Aaron knew how deeply it affected Spencer. He was proud of how well Spencer handled it; like a true BAU agent, he channeled everything into his job and had done a damn good job of it. But now, watching him embrace the rain, he wasn’t so sure he was handling it well.

Aaron grabbed a jacket and made for the main doors.

* * *

 

Spencer was trying to count rain drops when he heard a deep voice boom over the thunder claps.

“REID!” The voice screamed, getting closer.

“Reid, what the hell are you doing out here?!”

He turned to see his supervisor standing behind him, a jacket help up over his head to block the tempest from pouring over him.

“Have you ever read Frost’s _Lodged_ , Hotch?” Spencer asked. His voice was drowned out by a sudden clap of thunder.

Aaron hadn’t heard what he said, but it didn’t matter. He took his jacket and wrapped it around Spencer’s shoulders, pushing him towards the doors. Spencer went with little hesitance—he felt clean now, so the storm had served its purpose.

They reached the front doors and Aaron pushed one open, holding it with one arm and guiding the sopping wet profiler into the building with the other. The two agents’ shoes squeaked as they made their way down the hallway in silence. When they reached his room, Spencer fished through his soaked through pants for his key card. The red light turned green when he swiped through.

Aaron held out an arm to stop Reid from entering the room.

“What the hell was that about, Reid?” He asked, staring at his co-worker as the droplets fell from his face.

“I was trying to ask you before, Hotch, have you ever read Frost's _Lodged_?”

Aaron looked at him quizzically. “No... I don't think I have. Is that relevant?”

Spencer looked down and chuckled before walking into his room. He left the door open, an invitation for Aaron to join him.

The older agent followed and closed the door behind him.

“The rain to the wind said 'you push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed that the flowers actually knelt, and lay lodged—though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.”

Spencer quoted Frost's work word for word while he searched the adjoining bathroom for a dry towel.

“Excuse me?” Aaron asked, leaning against the dresser.

“Frost's _Lodged_. The rain and the wind are portrayed as destructive forces, two of the most unstoppable forces known to man. And the flowers, appearing so delicate and fragile, stand up to those forces. They're—they're bent and dirty and have lost some of their structure but they do not die. And I—I do know how the flowers felt,” Spencer explained, squeezing water from his hair into the fluffy white towel.

“This is about the case, isn't it?” Aaron asked, fully expecting Spencer's answer.

“You know, it's funny,” he chucked, tossing the towel into a bin next to the closet, “everyone assumes that I like having this memory. That I—I like being able to remember everything I see, that I like being able to recall minute details. Sometimes I do, like when it helps solve a case or save a life. But sometimes, I just—I'd do anything to forget.”

Aaron's heart bled for Spencer. Even without Spencer's eidetic memory, he could recall Foyet's attack with vivid detail— he remembered every stab, every word, every breath. He could only imagine how much worse it must be for Spencer.

“There is a difference between you and the flowers though, Reid,” Hotch began. Spencer's fingers were clutching at the jacket he didn't realize was still draped around his shoulders.

He took the silence as an invitation to continue.

“The flowers knelt. And as much as has been forced upon you, you never knelt. You've taken everything standing.”

“I still feel weak, Hotch. I still feel so weak and so... dirty. The case today it—it brought back a lot of terrible memories from Hankel and I could feel everything. I smelled everything. I heard everything all over again,” he replied, his voice cracking. “That's why I ran outside. I was trying to wash it all away.”

Aaron was moving toward Spencer before he could stop himself and pulled him tight against his chest—one arm snaked around Spencer's waist while the other wrapped around his neck. Spencer stiffened against his supervisor's frame. It was rare for someone to be outwardly affectionate with him and, if he was being honest with himself, having such affection come from Aaron turned his world upside down.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Aaron muttered, his breath tickling Spencer's ear. He buried his face in Aaron's shoulder, melting into the embrace.

“It comes and goes.”

Aaron sighed. “If it makes you feel any better, I understand.” He hadn't told anyone this—not Dave, not his team, certainly not his son—but he knew that Spencer felt alien in his experiences.

“There are some nights I wake up screaming because I—I feel the knife in my stomach again. I remember every stab, every sound, every word. I was having a Scotch when he attacked me and I remember exactly how it tasted mixed with my own blood.”

Spencer knew that Aaron was still haunted by his experiences; no man was that strong. But he hadn't the slightest that his memories tormented him in the same way that Spencer's did him.

Unsure what to say, he pulled Aaron tighter to him, returning his previous gesture of wordless support. The two agents clung to one another, both damp and rain-beaten. Aaron massaged small circles into Spencer's lower back while Spencer ran his hand through the gap between Aaron's shoulder blades.

They remained entangled in one another for a few moments before Spencer broke the silence.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” He asked around the lump of nerves forming in his throat.

“Of course,” Aaron replied simply.

They'd found such sanctuary with one another that breaking their embrace was almost painful. Every nerve in Spencer's body ached to rejoin those of the older agent and, after a brief swap from their dripping clothes into two pairs of Spencer's extra sweatpants, they did.

Lying in bed together, Aaron wrapped an arm around Spencer and pulled him back, their bodies slotting together. He could feel his chest against Aaron's bare back, Aaron's slight stubble against his shoulder, his breath against his neck.

Their breathing synced together as they watched the storm pass through. And as Spencer drifted into a peaceful sleep, he swore he felt Aaron press a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

* * *

 

Spencer smiled to himself, reliving that memory. It seemed so long ago now but he still remembered every detail. The smell of the rain, the warmth of Aaron's jacket wrapped around his shoulders, the newness of his partner's arms embracing him through the night.

The sudden change in Spencer's pulse as he remembered that evening pulled Aaron out of his slumber.

“Mmmm what are you still doing up?” He mumbled groggily.

“It's raining,” Spencer replied.

Aaron smiled against his back. “Idaho?”

“Mmmhm.”

“I remember.”

“Me, too.”

Spencer turned to face his partner, disheveled and heavy-lidded. Back then, touching Aaron unnerved him. He was never quite sure when something would be too much, when he would cross a line. Now, he placed a gentle hand on the side of Aaron's neck without hesitance.

“Your heart beat 886 times before I fell asleep that night.”

Aaron arched one eyebrow. “You remember that?”

Spencer chuckled. “Sometimes, I'm grateful for my eidetic memory.”

Aaron leaned in and pressed his lips to Spencer's. The rain and the wind may have smote the rest of the garden bed, but they could not force these two to kneel. 

* * *

_In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back. --Albert Camus_


End file.
